


Magnetisation

by eiqhties



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: M/M, movie references everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9383195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiqhties/pseuds/eiqhties
Summary: He thinks about it, sometimes. Thinks about how he shouldn’t have left Sonja like that. Shouldn’t have been so mean, so wild, so thoughtless. He thinks about it, but he wouldn’t change it, really. Wouldn’t trade in anything, swap out anything.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [niallszayn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niallszayn/gifts).



> Dedicated to [Pia](http://farfromthstars.tumblr.com). Let's pretend it's a birthday present and that it's not two months late.

It’s humiliating, more than anything. Even shoulders his backpack and sighs, long and drawn out.

“It’ll be fine,” Sonja says, pressing a lip gloss sticky kiss to his cheek. “Hell, maybe you’ll meet some really cool people, you know? It could be way better than Bakka.”

Even just stares at her. The speech sounds so eerily similar to his mother’s that he doesn’t even bother to ask if they’ve been texting again. The two of them talk back and forth so much that it’s not even weird anymore. Sonja’s managed to normalise the abnormal. It should be her superpower.

“Yeah,” He says, and smiles. It feels plastic and stretched out on his face, but Sonja doesn’t seem to notice the difference. She just goes up onto her tiptoes and kisses him again, on the mouth this time. He puts his hands on the dip of her waist and shuts his eyes, calling back the time when kissing Sonja was everything to him.

That’s another abnormality that’s been normalised between the two of them. _It’s okay that we’re both just going through the motions, because I care about you_. His brain, his hyped up, badly medicated brain is telling him that this isn’t how the movies said love would go. This isn’t flower petals and eight hundred candles and grand, grand gestures.

Maybe this is what love is when you get old and bored and don’t have any secrets. Maybe.

Even reaches up, pushes some hair back from her cheek, and sighs again. When they’d first met, she’d had hair so long it had almost touched her waist. She used to tie it up with chopsticks and pink bobbles, spend hours brushing it out each night. She cut it all off last year, back when things had got difficult and everything had spiralled out of control and Even had felt like his world had ended.

She cut it all off last year, back when she stopped having time to brush it out night after night. Even looks at her now, and wonders when they wore down the edges of each other so much. Comfort clothing, comfort eating, comfortable, comfortable, comfortable.

She smiles at him, small and soft at the corners.

“I’ll miss you,” Sonja says. She taps his cheekbone in return, right above where she just kissed.

“Uh huh,” Even says back. “You too. I’ll text you.”

“Good,” She says, and then steps back and away from the circle of his arms. She’s wearing a red polo neck jumper today. It’s tight, and accentuates the curves of her body. She’s had it for years; she wore it on their third date and Even’s whole throat had gone dry when he’d looked at her. He used to try so hard around her, all shaking hands and embarrassed smiles.

He wonders when he’d stopped being so nervous.

“I watched a movie last night,” He tells her.

She had used to love it when he talked about films. She was an art student herself, all fine art and paintbrushes and smudges of watercolour paint leftover on the bones of her hands, the hollow behind her ear. Finding each mark used to be like finding a treasure trail. Finding a gift left just for him.

He hasn’t seen her paint in a while. Hasn’t seen her do much of anything other than touch him, all soft hands and careful smiles and gentle words. She’s so careful with what she says, now. She used to be so aggressive, so angry and violent and overflowing with colour.

“What movie?” She asks, her head tilts. She looks unnervingly like his mother again – it feels like he’s being humoured.

“ _Die Hard_ ,” He tells her. He wants to see her smile, properly, this time. He wants to see her head tip back and the line of her throat and he wants to sit beside her and watch her roll a joint while she waves her hands around, tells Even that _Die Hard_ is the best Christmas movie.

Instead, only the tiniest corners of her mouth flick up. She looks sad, instead. “I hear that’s a good one,” She says, as though she hasn’t seen it. As though they didn’t watch it together, piles of food all around them, Sonja mouthing along with every word, Even paying more attention to her than the film itself.

Even sighs again. “Yeah,” He says, sadly. “It was.”

*

He’s sitting alone when it happens. He’s trying to get a feel for the groups of people, the cliques, the way people herd together. He’s not had to be the new kid before – but he’s seen films. All the cliché American high-school ones; _Mean Girls_ and _Clueless_ and _The Breakfast Club_ and _Grease_. He’s done his research. He’s carefully compiled lists.

Sonja had laughed at him when she’d seen him watching them. He’d been on _Easy A_ , watching Emma Stone’s life tailspin out of control from a rumour that spread.

“That’s a girl’s movie!” Sonja had told him, tapping him on the arm and telling him to shove over.

“I know,” Even said, not looking away from the screen. It was. A girl’s movie. Marketed towards girls because boys are never the new kids. Boys always know where they fit in society, always know where they fit in their own skin. He’d looked at Sonja out of the side of his eye, the way she sat down carefully, gently beside him.

Sonja had once moved like a thunderstorm. Sonja had once moved like _Clementine Kruczynski_ , like she was going to storm up his life. Though maybe that made him Joel. Maybe that was the problem in the first place. Maybe he made her his manic pixie dream girl. Maybe they were always going to crumble apart around each other.

So Even’s sitting alone when they walk past. When he sees them for the first time.

It’s a group of boys, four of them, they’re laughing and shoving and then there’s a moment – a brief moment, where one of them hangs back. He’s all sharp edges and soft hair, and there’s a snapback shoved backwards on his head. It’s bright red – like Holden Caufield, he’s _The Catcher in the Rye_ , and he’s golden, and he’s laughing, and. And.

And Even is a stupid idiot who finds symbolism in everything.

He can’t get the guy out of his head, though. The way he’d fallen away from the group, the way he’d laughed as though he couldn’t fit himself inside his own skin. As though there was something jagged and torn inside him. Even wanted to grab him by his fingernails and unspool him like thread. He wants to find the broken pieces and soften them.

He wants to stop feeling like an explosion about to go off. Wants to stop watching Sonja fade herself out to make room for Even. It’s wrong, it feels wrong. He wants to push her out the door and tell her to grow her hair out long again, tell her to paint him the sky, to stop thinking so much, start living again.

He doesn’t. He’s seen the movies; he doesn’t live in them. Sonja told him that’s _disassociation._ That’s _refusing to live in the real world_. It was the same speech his mum gave him. The same speech he’s heard again and again, pushed into his stomach like ice-cold hands. Pressed into his hair like kisses with teeth.

Except.

Except, there’s the kid with the red snapback again, the nervous way he’s playing with the strap of his bag. The way he laughs at his friend’s joke, and then looks at the ground again instantly. The way he seems to curl in on himself when he thinks no one’s looking.

Even is looking.

*

The paper towels thing wasn’t planned. Not really. Not fully.

He just. He only went to the _kosegruppa_ meeting on the slight chance, the possibility that the kid with the snapback would be there. The hope that he’d be able to get close guy with the blond curls and wrinkle between his eyes. The frown that makes him think of _When Harry Met Sally_ – all grumpy and compact and everything Even wants to fold up and hold close to himself.

So he follows the kid to the bathroom. Follows him, and then stands there, like a fool, for ages. Stands there to a soundtrack of phone created zombie deaths and too-loud breathing, trying to think of a way to start a conversation. A way to be so suave that he can get him at _hello_. Keep him until the end.

So the paper towels.

*

He thinks about it, sometimes. When it’s dark at night and Isak is sleeping beside him, all hot and warm and so explosive. So fragile. So all-encompassing, everything he wants, everything he shouldn’t be able to have.

He thinks about Sonja, the way she used to make him feel unsteady. The way she felt like missing the last step on a ladder, the very top of a roller-coaster. The way she felt like the swooping, wooshing feeling of free fall. Like gunfire and quick-cuts and the incomprehensibility of a _Michael Bay_ action film.

He'd loved her, once. Then he’d ruined her.

He’d loved her, once. Then he’d watched the film too many times. Hit replay too much until he knew every line. Every, “ _Should you really be doing that_?” “ _Is that good for you_?” “ _Are you thinking of yourself_?” Until his head was pounding and he couldn’t take it again. Until the whole thing was burned into his brain, overlay over overlay, match-cut. New background, same shot.

Maybe he hadn’t been thinking of himself, but she hadn’t been thinking of herself, either. A mutually destructive descent into madness. Amy and Nick from _Gone Girl,_ doomed to spend together forever. Doomed to kiss for the camera, smile for the audience.

Isak makes him feel new. Isak makes him feel like molten metal.  Soft, but with all the potential of being dangerous. All the potential of being hard, and steady, and something entirely different.

He thinks about it, sometimes. Thinks about how he shouldn’t have left Sonja like that. Shouldn’t have been so mean, so wild, so thoughtless. He thinks about it, but he wouldn’t change it, really. Wouldn’t trade in anything, swap out anything.

The sweep of Isak’s eyelashes across his cheek make Even think of waves. They make Even think of the ocean, the start of _Inception_ , a whole world built out of dreams. Pulled out of his head.

Except better. Except physical.

Except real.

*

 _Only you can feel what you feel_.

*

Isak is a lot of things that Even never thought he would be. He’s grumpy, and nervous, and his hands skitter on Even’s body sometimes, as though he still can’t believe he can touch. Half the time Even can’t believe he can touch, either.

Isak makes his teeth feel like they’re melting out of his mouth. He’s hot like burning, like putting your hand directly over the flame, like staring into the sun.

“I can’t believe you saw me the first day of school,” Isak says, again. He always sounds disbelieving when he says this, shy and surprised and half like he thinks Even is playing a trick on him. Lying to him.

As though Even isn’t drawn to him the second he walks in a room. As though he isn’t so gorgeous that sometimes Even thinks that he’s half the reason for global warming. As though Even doesn’t want to wrench out how he’s feeling and put it publically on display, broadcast to all the world how whole Isak makes him. How steady. How full.

It’s a Saturday morning, too early for the rest of the _kollektivet_ to be awake. Isak’s sitting on the sofa, legs tucked up under him, hands around a mug of coffee. He’s wearing Even’s hoodie, and he’s soft, and sleep warm. Even wants to hold him so close that he turns to dust under his hands. Even wants to inhale him.

Even wants to stop feeling so entirely irrational. So completely filled with light.

“I thought you were so hot,” Even says back, grinning.

Isak kicks his foot out, hitting Even in the thigh. The impact is soft, soft enough that Even can tell Isak pulled the kick at the last minute. Saved the worst of the impact.

“You had a girlfriend!” He says, but he’s laughing, mouth twisted up at both ends. Even’s written poems about the curve of his mouth, the shine in his eye.

“Mm,” Even says. “I did, and now I don’t.”

He reaches across the sofa, tangles his hand into Isak’s hair. His fingers catch on the tangles in the curls, and when he pulls, just slightly, Isak’s eyes slide shut. It makes Even feel heady with power. Makes Even feel as though he carved himself a space into Isak’s life, Isak’s body.

“Stop that,” Isak murmurs, though he tips his head further into Even’s hand. Though he drops his eyes to Even’s lips. Though he tilts his body closer, closer.

“I’m not stopping,” Even says, tipping into Isak as well. Magnetisation. The sea and the moon. Even is reflecting and Isak is colliding with him, working with him, bending with him. Sonja is the sun, big, and bright, and vibrant – but nothing on this. Nothing on them. Nothing on them, together.

“You should be kissed,” Even says, now. He’s so close to Isak’s lips that he feels them against his as he speaks. The weight of them. The warmth of them. “Often, and by someone who knows how.”

He laughs then, pulls back, away from Isak. Watches the way Isak follows.

Magnetisation.

“Stop that,” Isak says, again. He loops his arm over Even’s neck, pulls him in close again, the heat of him under Even’s palms. Under Even’s skin. “Or kiss me properly.”

“You’re bossy,” Even says, smiling.

Then he kisses him properly.

*

There is something to be said for attracting magnets. For the steadiness that Isak Valtersen offers him.

There’s something to be said for being a stupid idiot that finds symbolism in everything, because it brought him here. It gave him this moment, this gift. This star-wrapped, ocean-wet, tidal wave of things. This, right here – Isak with his hand in his mouth, eyes looking away, trying to pretend that he isn’t crying.

“This is a terrible movie,” Isak says.

Eskild had walked out the second he’d seen the DVD cover. “No,” He’d said. “I’m not putting myself through that again.”

Even tangles his hand into Isak’s hair, tugs lightly. “What?” He says, half shock, half amusement. “You laughed at Eskild when he said he wouldn’t watch it with us.”

On screen, Jake Gyllenhaal is crying. Isak is crying too.

“I didn’t know it was going to be this sad! They deserve to be happy,” He mumbles, tilts sideways, so his body is pressed against Even’s. So the weight of him is all along Even. So that they’re magnets again. “Why are there no films where they end up _happy_.”

Even laughs again, tries not to look at the screen. Jake Gyllenhaal is still crying. _I wish I knew how to quit you_.

Even would never wish to quit Isak. Even only ever wants him close. Even only ever wants to fall back into him. Melt their bones together and meld them into one. Not in a desperate way, just in a steady way. Beams holding up a building, plants intertwining together. Stars set for collision.

“We’ll watch a happy one after,” He promises, “There are happy ones, I swear.”

Isak sniffs. Even presses a kiss to his hair. Then a kiss to his cheek. Then a soft kiss, to the very corner of his lips.

“You should make your film,” Isak says, quietly. He’s still watching the screen, can’t look away. Tears are still streaming down his face.

“What film?” Even asks him.

“ _The Boy Who Couldn’t Hold His Breath Underwater_ ,” Isak says back. Even laughs.

“Would that one have a happy ending?” He asks.

Isak looks away from the screen.

“You know it would,” He whispers.

*

It did.

*

 _It does_.

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I keep writing short fics that focus more on Even and Sonja than Isak and Even? Who knows. I'm endlessly fascinated by how quickly their relationship fell apart, I guess. Also, here I am with all your movie mentions! 
> 
> **Films Mentioned/Referenced in this Fic**  
>  \- Die Hard (1989) dir. John McTiernan  
> \- Mean Girls (2004) dir. Mark Waters  
> \- Clueless (1995) dir. Amy Heckerling  
> \- Breakfast Club (1985) dir. John Hughes  
> \- Grease (1978) dir. Randal Kleiser  
> \- Easy A (2010) dir. Will Gluck  
> \- Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) dir. Michal Gondry  
> \- When Harry Met Sally (1989) dir. Rob Reiner  
> \- Jerry Maguire (1996) dir. Cameron Crowe  
> \- Gone Girl (2014) dir. David Fincher  
> \- Inception (2010) dir. Christopher Nolan  
> \- Gone With the Wind (1940) dir. Victor Fleming, George Cukor, Sam Wood  
> \- Brokeback Mountain (2006) dir. Ang Lee 
> 
> Why did I make Sonja's favourite film _Die Hard_? I don't know. I thought it would be funny. It was nearly _Independance Day_ , but I changed my mind last minute after I watched the episode of Brooklyn Nine Nine where they pay homage to the greatness of Die Hard. Why did I force Isak to watch _Brokeback Mountain_? Idk I'm mean.
> 
> If you want to complain to me on tumblr about how I can't manage to write an Isak/Even fic that's over 5K, hmu @[evennaesheim](http://evennaeshiem.tumblr.com)


End file.
